


Hostage

by ferporcel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Community: sshg_exchange, Drama, F/M, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferporcel/pseuds/ferporcel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus is taken hostage by the Order, and Hermione is assigned to take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hostage

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Português brasileiro available: [Refém](https://archiveofourown.org/works/388627) by [ferporcel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferporcel/pseuds/ferporcel)



> **Disclaimer:** Not mine! It’s all J. K. Rowling’s.
> 
> My eternal gratitude to Ariadne, who did much more than beta-read this story. Story written for the SS/HG Winter Exchange 2006.
> 
>   
> 

_It’s dark, it’s always dark. Day, night? The time is endless. Why don’t they stop screaming? Stop screaming! STOP!_

_Pacing only makes me see how small this is. Stuck in here! Cold. Oh, no, no. Cold. Too cold, too cold! Stop screaming! Don’t scream, don’t scream. Too cold._

_No, no, no, no. Go away. Go away! Go away! Stay back! Back!_

Severus awakens, startled, sweating, the images of the Dementor’s claw vivid from his nightmare. He looks at the ceiling and is almost satisfied to see wood instead of stone. He hates his nightmares, but those of his time in Azkaban are always the worst and they invade his nights much too often lately. 

He has to admit that his actual situation is affecting his subconscious, but he doesn’t have to like it. In fact, he loathes it, as he loathes the very situation itself. Why did that self-conscious creature had to interfere in his business? It was about Potter and himself, nothing that werewolf had to act upon… his Gryffindor heroic nobility. When had the wolf started to interfere, anyway? 

Severus snorts. It is never too late for a Gryffindor to develop that particular, annoying trait. He blinks, one long second. Not even his sarcasm can make the Azkaban dream sensations abate. 

_I am not going back there. I am not!_

But he doesn’t know how he won’t. If Lupin hadn’t interfered…

He would be happily dead by now. Potter would have killed him without a second thought. The green eyes had been bright with rage, the wand hand steady enough. Severus has no doubt the stupid boy would have gone through with it. But, no – Lupin had decided to start interfering at that precise moment. 

Albus must be rejoicing in his grave, the bastard!

Severus sits up on his narrow bed, rubbing his sticky forehead, brushing the lanky hair back. He won’t be getting any more sleep tonight. There is no light coming from under the wooden door; it must be late. A week, and he hasn’t yet managed to bury his interest in the mundane passage of time. _I should be dead_. He shakes his head. _Where did I go wrong?_

His eyes travel the darkened room, catching the darker silhouette of his night meal, which he hadn’t touched. The thought of eating was not one he harbored today, nor the day before. Not after reliving the terrors of the Dementors in the night.

He stands, and enters the bathroom five strides away. He ignores what meets him in the mirror, and splashes some water on his face. Holding his head up, bracing the sink, Severus finally examines the man who looks back at him, paler than usual. 

_I would not even have become a ghost; nothing unfinished. I should be in Hell by now!_

_And not thinking about Azkaban…_

But he can think of little else, has thought of little else since Lupin suggested he be brought here, forcing his unvoiced death wish to go ungranted. 

A prisoner in Grimmauld Place. Black and Albus must be fraternizing over his predicament.

On his way back to bed, he passes the small table that holds the tightly arranged tray. Why bother to feed him? He would eat, if he knew it had been prepared by Potter… He smirks, slightly maniacally, then sighs.

Granger.

She has been keeping him alive, the annoying chit. Being Miss Efficiency, she must be taking care of his meals personally. At least, it seems to be her duty to care for him, for in the week he’s spent here, Miss Perfection’s face is the only one he’s seen.

He chuckles. They all must be quite glad Granger is busy with him and not annoying them with her incessant nonsense. 

His lips twist when he thinks of it as his punishment, the good guys’ method of torture. 

He might be losing his mind to think of that as a joke… 

He lies in bed to resume his nonstop waiting. Azkaban awaits him. It is only a matter of time and the war will be over. A time he will be spending captive, closed in this room with his demons.

~*~*~*~

Severus snaps his eyes open at the clicking sound of the doorknob’s turning to admit someone to his cell. Not someone, her. She enters the room and closes the door behind her, which instantly glows blue. She holds a tray in her hands, as always. 

He doesn’t move as she places the tray on the table and inspects his untouched dinner. She turns to him, but he continues to act as if she’s not there, his left hand behind his head over the pillow, his right mingling with his white shirt over his stomach. 

She’s been doing this for the last visits, watching him. 

She turns away, her back to him again, collecting what she will take from the room; he can hear the tinkling of the dishware. But the noises stop and are not followed by the usual click of the door closing on her departure. 

He moves his eyes to see what she is doing, and she is looking at him again.

“You should eat,” she says in a soft voice. 

Severus suppresses a smirk. A week was longer than he had thought her capable of holding her silence. Of course, she wouldn’t have lasted much longer after the staring began. She would have to say something, anything. But he wouldn’t grace her with an answer.

After a quick moment’s looking at one another, she finally grows tired of waiting for answer, any answer, and leaves. He snorts. So predictable. Why do they send her? Yes, he is wandless, but if he should decide to get free, that stupid girl wouldn’t have a chance. But they never learn anything, and he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. He shakes his head; the old fool never did know how to choose his followers.

Severus closes his eyes and tries to ignore the passage of another endless day.

~*~*~*~

He is sitting with his back on the wall, counting the repetitions of a certain detail in the wallpaper when the door opens. He doesn’t turn to it, but his attention is no longer on the wallpaper. 

The girl enters the room, he hears her leave the tray on the table, and then… silence. 

Severus knows she is looking at him, as she’s been doing lately. She had gone back to doing that after those few words the other day, only now she has no reservations about it. She would stare without the embarrassment staring brought; she would stare as if she were invisible to her target’s return gaze.

But he is very aware of her scrutiny, and very conscious of ignoring it. And although he has all the time in the world right now to play her games, he is also growing annoyed by her hesitation – hesitating about what he knows is behind her attention.

So he breaks his unbroken silence.

“Just ask or leave.” His voice is rough with disuse, but holds the strength of earlier times. He is not looking at her, but he can sense her surprise.

The silence stretches, and she is still there, stuck in that spot by the wooden table. Annoying. He turns his attention to her, pressing. Although she is no longer the girl he knew at Hogwarts, and he is no longer in a position of authority over her, he should still have some power of intimidation left in his glare… 

“Why?” she asks finally, her eyes shining with something he can’t identify.

Time passes while he chooses from his well-prepared answers for that question, all true to some extent, depending on the point of view; each serving a specific mind frame, the manipulative intent of future needs. 

And he finds himself unable to choose the best for this moment, this girl. None of his answers seemed to suit that shine in her eyes, that peculiarly undecipherable shine. 

“Because it suited me.” Also true; vague enough for interpretation. A good answer combined with his tone of total indifference to the whole matter.

She watches him for a while longer; her eyes sharpen. “That was not my question. It’s obvious that killing him suited you.”

_Sharp tongue, too_ , he thinks, raising an eyebrow. “Then you don’t have a question.”

When he thinks she was about to argue his answer, she leaves the room.

~*~*~*~

_Stone. Rough to his naked feet, damp. Screams again; they’re coming. Stuck here! The cold, so cold._

Why do they have to scream?! Breathe, breathe. They’re near. So close. 

Don’t scream! 

Stop shaking! Don’t tremble! No, no, no. Stop screaming!

Breathe… Oh, no! Not the claw! No, no, no… Stay back! Get away from me! Not me! It’s touching –

He awakens, flinching from the hand on his shoulder. She retreats, fearful, when he sits up with a jump. Severus takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. 

She is staring, of course. 

Severus takes his head in his hands, brushing the damp hair back and taking more calming breaths. He can feel her eyes on him.

“Enjoying the show?” he asks, his voice not as steady as he would like.

His words seem to bring her back from herself. “I’m sorry. You were having a nightmare. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t just leave...” she trails off, lowering her gaze to the floor, for which he is grateful.

The trembling is almost gone, and she is still there. Just as he thinks she has had enough amusement for one night and has decided to leave, a glass of water appears in front of him. It seems like a good idea, but he doesn’t accept it, which does nothing to send her away. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Her voice is tainted with uncertainty. 

Severus snorts with the surrealism of the moment. He knows he looks a pitiful man right now; he feels like one. _Stupid girl_.

“I’m just,” she stammers, “… they say it helps. To talk about it, I mean.”

“Are you trying to help?” He looks up to meet her eyes, observing her reactions to his question. Her eyes are not shining, but steady, resolved. She pushes the glass of water towards him again. Severus doesn’t know what makes him accept it this time.

“I have nightmares, too,” she says, her back to him while placing the empty glass on the table. “I hate the one where all my friends are dead because I didn’t find them in time to forewarn them about an attack I knew was coming.” Her voice is low, her head bowed, her hands playing with the empty glass.

_Impotence_. “Have you been to Azkaban?” he hears himself saying.

She turns to him. “No.”

Dense silence fills the air.

“I have.” It’s all he says.

~*~*~*~

They look like flowers, but he knows quite well they are not. After the day she walked in on his nightmare, she has taken more time to change the trays, but the staring is over. 

Speak of the devil…

The door opens for the third and last time that day. She glances at what was supposed to have been his lunch, and sighs. She is going to ask; he knows. And so she does…

“Why did you stop eating again?”

Severus raises an eyebrow at her patronizing tone. He is tempted to tell her that it is her fault, just for amusement, but ignores that impulse.

“If you don’t eat, you’ll get weak. Is that what you want?” she presses.

That makes both eyebrows shoot up. “I’ll eat when I feel like eating.” 

Severus rises from the bed. She takes an involuntary step back. He smirks, walking to stand with his shoulder inches from hers. He drops his voice and says, “Go find another hobby, girl,” dismissing her as he walks to the bathroom.

~*~*~*~

She would walk in, change the trays, and walk out. Not a glance, not a word. It’s been like this since he’d dismissed her mothering of him. Really, who does she think she is? Yes, he is locked in here for the time being. Yes, she is caring for him. But what gives her the right to question whether he eats and lives or starves to death? 

And why does he care?

Annoying… just like the damned pattern on the damned walls. He punches the wall and goes back to walking in circles. Nothing to do… 

If she wanted him to eat, she should have asked why he wasn’t eating, instead of demanding that he eat, as if –

Severus growls. “Who cares?” he asks the room, and then sighs. He needs to get out of here, so he takes his only choice: the bathroom.

He struggles with the buttons of his shirt, impatient. Who does she think she is to invade his mind like that? Shirt off, pants off, shower on. The feeling of the falling water is heaven to his hell; the sound of it heating the ground washing his mind of thought. 

It seems every prison has its Dementors. He lets the water hit his forehead, soothing his nerves. He must control himself if he wants to remain sane. But then again, why get attached to his sanity, only to lose it in Azkaban? A shiver running down his spine betrays his vulnerability, and he hates it.

When he thinks he’s in control again, he turns the water off. The silence that earlier oppressed, now calms. He dries his relaxed body, and is lost in the sensations of rubbing his hair when he returns to the room and is met with shriek of shock.

His personal Dementor is there, tray in claws, back turned to him after seeing his naked figure. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in the shower. I should have known, though, since you were not here when I came in. I’ll leave and come back later. I’m sorry,” she says all at once, visibly nervous. 

Severus smirks. He finally has his revenge on his Dementor. “Just do what you came here to do,” he says to her still static form. He isn’t about to let her leave and lose enjoying her embarrassment. 

He fastens the towel around his waist. 

She turns slowly, carefully avoiding looking at him. He enjoys the moment. Leaning against the doorframe, he can see her cheeks are flushed as she tries to keep her attention on the tray. _Revenge is sweet_ , he thinks, and, looking the girl – no, the woman – from head to toe… _sweet, indeed_.

“What did you bring me?” he asks, wanting to prolong the moment. 

She answers without looking at him. “Pie. Chicken pie.” He can feel her nervousness, and his smirk returns, curving his mouth.

Severus leaves the doorframe and joins her by the table. “It looks terrible,” he comments. “Was it you who made it?” She turns, outraged, forgetting he is still naked save for the towel covering his lower body. 

As he intends, she withholds her reprimand as she finds his bare chest, now even closer to her. He raises an eyebrow. 

“I…” she says, but her eyes are fixed on his chest, following a drop of water he can feel running down from his shoulder. 

_Interesting_ , he thinks, a little surprised by the effect he is having on her. “You…” he presses.

“I’ll leave you to your meal,” she says finally, averting her eyes from him, fixing what she will be taking with her and leaving the room.

This is a turn of events Severus hasn’t anticipated. Granger, attracted to him? Maybe it is merely the circumstances... Well, he will have all the time to find out. 

Severus smirks again, taking a bite of the pie.

~*~*~*~

“I’ve been eating every bit of crap you bring me. Don’t you have anything to say?” he asks a couple of silent days later. She has been distant, shy even, after his nakedness proved the _Patronus_ to her Dementor. 

No answer.

He sits on the bed, observing her intently. “If I’d known seeing me naked was what was required to make you silent, I might have tried it years ago,” he comments. 

She hesitates with what she’s doing for only a second, but he doesn’t miss it, nor the color of her cheeks. 

He stands up and takes a step in her direction. She glances at him and lets the fork fall.

“Would you have enjoyed that?” he asks. 

She’s blushing furiously, ready to leave, but hesitating. 

_She would_ , he realizes with a raised eyebrow. He takes another step. He knows she’s watching his every move; she’s not even pretending to be busy anymore. 

He reaches for the top button of his shirt, and she’s at the door in the blink of an eye, leaving the room quickly. Severus' mouth curves up in what might very well be a smile. 

The following day, he hears her coming up the stairs. He steps behind the door, waiting. The door opens, and when she’s closing it, he says, “Good morning, Granger.”

She suppresses a shriek of surprise, but the cutlery chinking betrays her. He doesn’t move, just watches her from where he stands by the door. 

This is an advantageous position from which to watch her. She’s in profile, almost facing him, actually. _Not bad_ , he can’t help thinking. His torso is revealed a little more through the gap of his open shirt when he deliberately raises his left hand to the wall, to better observe her. 

She’s ignoring his scrutiny but she can’t avoid blushing. When he’s sure that she’s only pretending not to look at him, he moves hand to caress his own chest, sensually. It is the scratching of his short nail over one nipple that makes her gasp escape. She stops what she is doing and leaves the room. He’s almost smiling when he hears the hollow sound of what can only be her head resting on the door, outside. 

“Come back inside, little Gryffindor,” he says to the door, and her footsteps echo down the stairs. He’s positively smiling now.

She doesn’t return with lunch, but she is back with dinner. She places the tray on the table and starts to collect the mess she left behind earlier. When he makes a move her way, she turns her wand on him. Severus smirks.

“Why, why, Granger? I thought you’d been enjoying my company these past few days,” he says.

“Don’t come any closer.”

“Why don’t you admit you want to touch me like I did this morning? You know you want to run your hands over my chest, scratch it, play with my nipples… admit it. Admit you want me.”

“I don’t, you pervert!” she denies, regaining her waning composure. 

“I don’t need my wand to know what’s going through your mind,” he dismisses her denial.

She grips her wand tightly.

“What makes me attractive to you, Miss Granger? I know I’m not handsome, so it can’t be my looks. It could be my helplessness, my situation... does it work for you, that I’m bound to do as you ask?” He raises an eyebrow as if expecting an answer, one that never comes. “Could it be because I was your ruthless teacher...? I can see that appealing to a know-it-all like you. Pervert student wants her teacher?” 

She doesn’t give any sign that would betray agreement with what he’s saying. He continues, “Could it be because I’m a criminal?” His eyes darken in the light. “Does my Death Eater status appeal to you, Miss Granger? Do you want me for the Mark on my arm?” The tension builds with every question. “Dangerous. Evil.” He makes sure he’s looking directly into her eyes. “A _murderer_.” 

Her eyes widen. 

“You want the bad boy.”

“I don’t want anything,” she argues. “You’re a monster! We trusted you. I trusted you! How could you do that?! You killed him for what? Position with Voldemort? Fame? Glory?” she demands of him. “Look at you, Snape. Caught by those you betrayed, locked in a room, waiting to be sent to Azkaban.”

“Do you really think your precious hero would have caught me if I hadn’t wanted that to happen?” he counters. “Do you think any of you would be able to find a single Horcrux if I weren’t helping?” His voice rises. “Do you really think, Granger, that I killed him because I wanted him dead?” 

She can only stare at him, this annoying girl. He’s here, telling her the truth no one else has ever heard, and all she does is stare, her wand still pointing in his direction. He shakes his head and turns back to the bed, wanting her to leave. 

It takes a while, but she does just that, silently.

~*~*~*~

“You’re a liar,” she says the next day. 

He won’t dignify her with an answer.

She arranges his breakfast and retrieves his untouched dinner. Before leaving, she breaks the silence once more, “No one will believe you.”

“I don’t expect them to.”

~*~*~*~

“What you want me to believe is insane!” she whines the next day, giving up on leaving the room after delivering his lunch.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to erase the mental image of that damned wallpaper, cleaning space to think through the implications of what he’s hearing.

“If you didn’t want him dead, why did you kill him?” she asks, her voice very small. 

“Because he asked me to.”

~*~*~*~

“Why didn’t he leave any clues that you were acting on his orders?” she asks him at dinner.

“He couldn’t take the risk. _Potter_ needed me,” he answers to the ceiling above his bed.

~*~*~*~

_I can’t take the screaming anymore. Kill them! Cold again. Dark and cold. The claw? A… a flower?_

Her hand is on his damp forehead when his eyes snap open. “It’s okay, it’s over now,” she soothes him, and it’s oddly comforting. He closes his eyes again, relishing the rare moment of peace after a nightmare; she’s stroking his face.

“I’ve always thought there was more to you than meets the eye.” Such a soft voice. “You were helping us all this time, and I was too blind to see.” He feels her weight shifting, her breath on his face. “I’m sorry.” Her whisper against his mouth anticipates the warm, soft touch of her lips.

~*~*~*~

The sound of the glass hitting the table is music in his ears. He presses himself to her back, burying his face on the delectable skin of her neck, nibbling. She presses into him, enjoying his ministrations. “You should be running from me,” he murmurs into her ear.

“Why run from you, when one can have you?” she counters, and he rewards her by biting her earlobe.

“They do have a reason to keep me locked in here, Granger,” he insists.

“They do have a reason to let me in here with you, Snape,” she says in return, turning in his arms to offer her lips to him, which he claims with abandon.

~*~*~*~

“It’s time,” she says urgently, entering the room and not caring to close the door. “They will be in Godric’s Hollow in five minutes.”

“You’re staying?” he asks, dressing in the cloak she tosses at him.

“I’ll go with the second group in an hour.”

He stops in front of her, looking into those scared brown eyes. “I’ll be there,” he assures her before she clings to him in a desperate hug, and they kiss with the force of the moment. He takes the wand she offers him.

Before he’s gone through the door of the room he has been held in for more than a month, her voice makes him stop. 

“Promise you’ll come back.” 

Severus keeps walking.

~*~*~*~

Three days after the end of the war, Hermione walks into the room, closes the door behind her, and slides to the floor. A tear finally escapes her eyes after so many have gone unshed. Here, alone in this room she can surrender herself to pain.

He’d been there; she’d seen him. He was not among the dead; she’d made sure of it. But he’s not here either. Where is he? Why didn’t he come back? A sob, and another. 

_Why? How could I be so stupid? He used me, and I let myself be used!_ She couldn’t find another explanation. The war was over, and he was out of Azkaban. _Why?_

_Because it suited him_ , she sobbed a laugh. _Just like killing Dumbledore_.

**Author's Note:**

> Sadder than you thought? I know... But the prompt asked for darkness, and that's how I see it. He might come back, though... What do you say? Leave me a review. ;0)


End file.
